Resident Evil- Assassins
by Silver Scythe
Summary: Read the story not the summary. Sequel to Resident Evil: Deus Ex. R for amounts of blood and profanity.
1. Default Chapter

Resident Evil: Assassins  
By: Silver Scythe  
  
  
Power (pou'er) noun- ability to do or act; capability of doing or affecting something  
  
No matter how many times Umbrella gets it's hands slapped, it comes back for more, wanting to touch and fondle the thing it cannot have; supremacy.  
Various factions within the company have started their own personal rebellion, only to end up as experiments. Few get away alive, none keep their jobs or their sanity. Many try to stage a full-scale rebellion, only to be cut down by some unknown factor within the company.   
No one knows every single project going on in the entire company; except, of course, for one man. C.E.O. and Acting Director of Umbrella Inc. Donald Matthews.  
Matthews employs various people to do his especially dirty work, like Hunk.   
But his most trusted agent is a man who is only termed 'Mercenary', the man (? It's not even sure whether he is a he or a she ?) who paid Birkin through Chief Irons, the man who ordered the hit on Birkin, the man who single-handedly took out a Nemesis specimen.  
A man who has just been targeted at #1 of the 10 Most Wanted FBI list as being suspected for starting the bio projects.  
  
Survival of the fittest (theory)- the fact or the principle of the survival of the forms of animal and vegetable life best fitted for existing conditions, while related but less fit forms become extinct. See natural selection. 


	2. London England/Aspen Colorado

London, England  
3 A.M.  
November 4  
Donald Matthews swung around carelessly in his plush swivel chair. He suddenly stopped and checked his watch.  
  
"3 A.M., Mullet." He stated to a man sitting in the chair in front of him.  
"Shall we call up the other half of the team, sir?" he questioned, eternally patient.  
"Always ready, eh Mullet?" he said. "Once Statham finishes with his half, you have the affirmative."  
  
Matthews barely had time to finish his sentence when the phone rang. He picked it up.  
  
"Mmmhmmmmmmmmmm. Yeah. Alright. That quick, eh? Well, nice to see my cell phones are being put to good use." And with that he hung up.  
"Mullet, call up your boys."  
"Yes sir, Mr. Matthews." He got up, said good-bye, and walked out of the room.  
  
  
'Never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.'  
  
  
Aspen, Colorado   
8 A.M.  
November 5  
Chris and Redfield and the new love-of-his-life, Jill Valentine, were sitting comfortably in the lightly decorated kitchen, drinking hot cocoa. Chris could not believe his luck, and told Jill so.  
  
"Why would you say that?" she asked, eyebrows raised perfectly.  
Of course, everything about her is perfect, Chris thought to himself.  
"I survived Umbrella for now, I have my sister, and now I have you. I never thought I would ever be able to confess how I felt about you."  
"Yeah, it was pretty funny."  
"I thought I was talking to Claire and telling her how much I thought I loved you and-"  
"And it turned out to be me." Jill finished.  
Chris remembered the incident well. He had woken up after one of his many wet-dreams about Jill (For God sakes man, you're 28! He kept telling himself, although it never stopped his dreams at all), and decided to call up Claire to try to arrange for a double-date. He had decided that very instant he wasn't going to be a little horny teenager wishing to screw every female in sight. He was about to hang up waiting when the phone was picked up and he immediately started telling Claire about his plan. Finishing up: "...And you could go on an informal date with Leon and I could tell Jill th-"  
  
"This isn't Claire." Chris stopped in his tracks.  
"Wh-wh-wha-who-who is-th-this then?" he stammered, barely able to form the words as he realized just who possibly might be on the phone.  
"This is Jill."  
"Oh, crap! I mean, Oh SHIT! I mean, I'm so sorry, I was going to tell you after the-"  
"It's okay. Why don't I come over?" she said, her voice almost cracking up with laughter. OH SHIT! He thought again.  
"O-O-Okay." He said, and hung up."  
  
Jill dressed, sprayed a hint of perfume on herself, and went across four apartment rooms to Chris's.   
  
After the Barton incident, Jill, Chris and everyone else had decided that if there was an Umbrella wanted list, they were on the top and would probably never leave. Hell, they probably filled the whole thing up, as there were 5 people on the team. 6, counting Seth, and he was fairly important, serving as hacker and intelligence chief. Although Rebecca was incommunicado at the moment. Anyway, they had decided that it was finally time to lay low. That next day the lot of them was to fly out to Aspen and have a nice, inconspicuous vacation, plus a little skiing and snowboarding on the side. Barry was even gonna try and meet up with them, bring his family along.   
  
Chris and Jill's only relations to date had been friendship, camaraderie, and a one-night stand, which neither like to remember (or barely can anyway), as they were both shit-faced drunk when it occurred. They'd had friendly kisses, but that was all. Chris stared at her butt a lot, and Jill loved it when Chris was in biking shorts. But now, that might suddenly change. Jill knocked on the door and Chris got up, nearly tripping over himself he was so nervous. He opened the door and let her in without a word. She went to the bed and he tripped over and fell flat on his face walking over to her. Jill laughed good-naturedly while Chris got up and dusted himself off. She patted the spot next to her on the bed and he sat down without further mishap.  
  
"No offense Jill, but I think I've basically said what I needed to say over the phone. I-" he started.  
"Chris, I know, but just hear me out." She interrupted. Chris shut up.  
  
"Do you know how long I have waited for the time when I would hear you talking about me in that way? I thought I would croak before I would see that day. Ever since the incident with the booze, do you how many people I've slept with?"  
"How many?" was the immediate reply. Chris loved to give unbridled attention to Jill, sometimes he wasn't listening but just so he could stare at her lovely figure. This time, though, he was listening.  
  
"Zero. How many for you since then?"  
"Zero as well." Chris earnestly replied. Jill raised her eyebrows again, and arched her back, stretching it. Chris couldn't help but notice her rack and blood rushing to parts of his body he didn't want the blood rushing to right now. For Jill to see him with a boner; the embarrassment! He would probably kill himself right then. Trying to take his mind off of Jill's bountiful breasts, he elaborated on his answer.  
  
"Seriously. I haven't slept with anyone since then, nor do I expect to." Dumbass! He thought.  
  
Jill noticed the growing bulge in Chris's pants and felt herself grow hot. She would probably kill herself right then. For Chris to see her getting her panties wet; the embarrassment! Oh My God, how am I going to get myself out of this? She thought.   
  
"I feel the exact same way." Jill replied.  
"Are you sure? Because I honest-to-God love you, Jill Valentine." Chris answered. Jill was taken aback.  
"Chris." She gasped, breathing in sharply, raising her chest a bit more. Chris's bulge grew tighter.  
  
As they leaned in, moaning, for a kiss and what was sure to be a night of unbelievable passion (Oh, yeah, thought Chris) was interrupted by a forgotten voice: "Whoa now, children are in the room." Seth Walters said, barely holding in his laughter.   
  
Seth Walters was a 14- year old adolescent elite hacker with the ability to basically bust any system he wanted within 30 seconds or less. Guaranteed, as he himself might add. The Raccoon City survivors found him when he was hacking into the school system to change his grades. The Raccooners were hiding out in the school, for a Daffan Pharmaceuticals building was right next to the school. Claire, always the opportunist, saw what he was doing and asked him to run a search on the Daffan building. If he did this, they would "not report you to the school authorities", Claire lied to him. As it turned out, the school campus and the Daffan building shared the same system, and as Seth hacked his way in he stumbled into a self-destruct button that would destroy the whole illegal underground complex. Seth did not understand the magnitude of what his most recent hacking uncovered until he felt a massive boom under his feet. "Bitchin!" was his confirmation of realization. They acquired his services on the spot, as he was an orphan and had no "sick, perverted love for the hellhole" as he said. At 6' 2" and 192 lbs, he was massive for his age, and lifted weights to boot. Brown hair and silver eyes, a trait he personally loved, most girls would consider him attractive except for the glasses and the alienating intellect. He still acted normal for a teenager, in the Raccooners opinion.  
  
  
Chris and Jill grew cherry (Get it?) red as Seth pushed off the covers. He broke into laughter, unable to stop. After about half a minute he managed to get out "So-should I-get out the video camera and leave-or stay and watch-the-show?" he said before falling back onto the floor, rolling around and clutching his stomach. GODDAMMIT!!!! Chris thought. A sober night with Jill! GONE!   
  
Keeping as calm a voice as he could so as not to give a hint that he wanted to squeeze the life out of the bastard, he said "Seth, yes, it would be a great idea to leave the room now and not leave a video camera."  
  
Seth got up and left the room as slowly as possible, pushing his luck. He knocked on Claire's door.  
"Whaddya want?" she said.  
"Can I sleep in your room?"  
"Why don't you go jerk off?" Claire had not really taken to Seth, as he used profanity often and it had gotten to Sherry. She hadn't forgiven him for it.  
"And have you right in front of me? Please. C'mon, Jill's currently in a secret rendezvous with Chris, so if you wouldn't mind I would care to get some sleep, and not have to sleep in the hallway. I won't bother you. I'll go straight to sleep." He said, and exasperatedly Claire threw open the door, showing a naked Leon sleeping peacefully albeit belly-up on the other side of Claire's bed.   
"Not a word, Seth." She said as he went to the one-man bed on the other side of the room.  
"Wouldn't think of it. Just make sure he doesn't slit my throat in the morning. Oh, yeah, thanks." He apologized as Claire shut the door.  
  
Jill and Chris didn't have a night of passion, as they had acquired paranoia for the time being that someone would eventually see them, so they lied in bed and cuddled, kissing and saying how much they loved each other.  
  
"Yeah, that was pretty funny." Jill leaned back, remembering the incident.  
"I wonder what Claire and Leon are doing now?" Chris said.  
He was answered by a thump and a loud groan.  
"Oh, god dammit, I told them to wait until everyone else was gone to do this kind of thing!" he said, storming up the stairs.  
  
About a minute later, Jill heard the door open and a scream. She heard muted yelling and a loud thump and things crashing. Seconds later, Leon came tripping down the stairs, only a few sheets covering his body, broken pieces of lamp following.  
"Chris is a friggin' madman!" he said, and dodged the other lamp thrown down at him. Chris bounded down the stairs in one leap.  
"Where is he?" he said, Death in his eyes.   
  
Jill pointed in the opposite direction Leon actually went.  
"Thanks, babe." He thanked, before running off. Leon came shakily from under the table.  
"Thanks, Jill. I owe you one."  
"I know. Go finish up with Claire. He won't come back for another 15 minutes or so."  
"Really? Thanks for the heads-up." Leon went back up the stairs. Jill smirked, waiting for 5 minutes later when Chris would come back burned out.  
  
The phone rang. Jill picked it up.  
"Hello, may I ask who's calling?" Jill politely spoke into the phone. A filtered voice spoke quickly, not waiting for an answer.  
"Jill, you and your friends are in grave danger, but from a force you can't anticipate. Leave wherever you are right now and go to England. For your own safety, it would behoove you to leave within the next 8 hours, for the new assassins are almost at your current place of residence." The phone hung up, cutting off the connection.  
  
  
  
  
'I help people meet God.'  
  
  
Author's Note: I don't write porn. If you are really that up for stories that just have people f*cking each other, go read 'I Never Got To Licker' By the Great Stevini for that kind of thing. 


	3. Milan Italy/London

Milan, Italy  
Noon  
The crisply dressed Italian businessmen were closing the deal over a big lunch; ecstatic the merger's negotiations were finally over. Many toasts were being proposed and the men kept on chugging down the contents of their bottle. After around 10 to 20 minutes, they were sufficiently wasted to the point of having to be instructed heavily on how to open a door.  
  
The eldest of the businessmen, with wrinkles everywhere, stood up and asked for a moment of silence in remembrance of the B.O.W. attack on Rome by a rival country, which had recently been decimated. The men hung their heads in prayer, so they did not see the bullet that flew right into and through the old man's head, right between his eyes. He slumped to the ground face down, twitching. The other men, once they brought their heads up, thought he was suffering a heart attack. One man started administering CPR, while another ran for a phone to call an ambulance.  
  
Suddenly the whole courtyard lit up with sparks as the assassin in the building to their right emptied the contents of his minigun into the courtyard. Napkins, turkey, wine glasses, all exploded as men screamed and ran for their lives. Heads turned into indistinguishable mounds of fleshy pulp in seconds, and men screamed again as bullets flew through their bodies, leaving gaping holes. Many were not dead, but incapacitated as their legs now looked like hot-dogs. The assassin finished using up the ammo, and then threw a grenade into the courtyard. He leaned over and kissed the minigun. "Gracie." Was the praise of his latest innovation (completely silent discharge of the minigun, the police would never hear the gunfire) as a big bang shook the building and blood flew up to and splattered all over the window. The assassin came out again and saw one man who was still limping over to the door. The assassin was about to shoot with his pistol when his cell phone rang. He irritably picked it up.  
  
"Yes?" he said calmly into the phone, putting it to his head and re-aiming.  
"Look, old chap, it doesn't help to have a temper now does it?" he said.  
"Matthews." The assassin said, recognizing the heavy British accent as he pulled the trigger. The survivor cried and slumped to the ground. The assassin did not bother to see if the survivor was dead.  
"I have a job for you."  
"Don't you always? You never clean out your own fuck-ups."  
"Oh, shut up and listen. You're still under contract, old mate, keep that in bloody-well mind. It's time for Omega 9-11."  
  
The assassin's eyes widened.  
"Do you really mean that?" he questioned. Combo-Contract, he thought.  
"I do. Now get your friends right now, because I can't find them for some bloody reason. Come over to merry old England, and you & I will have a little chat."  
"How long until we start?"  
"Eight hours." Matthews hung up.  
  
The assassin started packing immediately, knowing a private jet would be coming any second, along with Umbrella enforcers. If he was not ready, they would drag to him to England with insufficient equipment. He could not stand having to do jobs with poor quality. It irritated him, and he could not do a job angry.  
  
Seconds after he was ready, there were raps on the door. The assassin opened it, bags in his arms. The Tyrant, hidden in a gigantic trench coat, picked up the heaviest bags and silently ushered the assassin away from the building. He had not collected payment for the job he had just completed, but that money would pale in comparison to the cash he would be about to collect. It all depended on how the mission worked.  
  
London, England  
7 p.m.  
  
Mullet walked down the streets aimlessly, the many pints of beer in his body adding to the shakiness in his step. A combo-contract Omega 9-11, the whole team brought in, and the biggest bloody payoff in Umbrella history. I'm never going to live through this, he complained to himself, ambling on down through an alley. A hobo stopped him and asked him for money.  
  
"Haven't got any on me, chap. I could give you a coupon for dinner, would that be alright?" he inquired. The hobo nodded emphatically, adding "Oh, yeah." Mullet led him down to a café, gave him the coupon, and almost shoved him threw the door, the hobo was thanking him so often.   
  
A hooded figure approached Mullet, who didn't notice the figure because his head was hanging over the ground, counting his footsteps. Suddenly the Tyrant touched him. "Jesus Christ!" Mullet cried out as a Tyrant in a trench coat approached him, beckoning. Mullet thought for sure he would die, but then he checked his watch and sighed with relief. 7:20 P.M. That was the time to start assembling for the briefing. Mullet couldn't say he liked to be within 3,000 miles of the fellows, but that Yank Statham could talk to them easy as pie. Mullet wished he could do that, talk to the coldest killers in the world like they were poker buddies. And the coldest of them all, we don't even know his bloody name! Why did I ever sign up with these people? He complained further.  
  
Mullet rode up the elevator with the Tyrant right behind him, his hands shaking. If I get caught... Mullet didn't think about the consequences; he would have peed in his pants. He tried to make his hands stop shaking; grabbing the unused disc in his pocket to make sure it was there. The elevator stopped and he got out, the Tyrant staying behind. Mullet walked down to his benefactor's office and opened the door.   
  
The room was massive, big enough to stage a friendly pickup game of rugby, which rumor has it Matthews did do once in a while. That and the orgy rumors, Mullet thought to himself as he walked over to his seat, right across from the killers. Matthews sat in the center, Statham to the right, and Mullet to the left, across the rectangular table from the assassins.   
  
Vincent Statham was Matthews's other exec, a cold-blooded killer like the rest of them, as Mullet would say; only he had an Italian suit on to hide his ulterior demeanor. An ex Navy SEAL, Statham was still in good shape at the age of 53. He had earned the nickname 'Uncle Gramps' as he talked about how much he loved America and what he used to do when he was their age. He signed up with Umbrella as commander of an elite U.B.C.S. team, only to be deemed unsuited for the job and relocated to management. Matthews had met him once and they found that together no one would stand a corporate-edge chance. Matthews had the charm, and Statham had the plan in the back of his mind as he let the diplomat do the talking.  
  
Matthews picked up a piece of paper, and looked at it. He reverted his eyes to the assassins, then back to the paper. The assassins sat silent, waiting. He checked his watch. 8 P.M. Suddenly he leaned forward and spoke.  
  
"Gentlemen, you have no idea how hard it is going to be to select my choices for this specific mission. You are all top-notch, the best in your league, the best in any league. None of you have failed, and none of you have ever missed an objective. But I must tell you; this job is so colossal that it will have need of 6 out of the 12 of you. I will now read off the list. Remember, these are your personas, not your real names." Matthews leaned back and gave the piece of paper to Statham. Statham stood up and read the list off.  
  
"If your name is called, stand up, state your persona and specialty, and then enter the door to your left where you will receive your briefing. If not, goodbye. Overseer." A man with a Jolly Roger tattooed on his forehead grinned and stood up.  
  
"Overseer. Torture authority." He got up and entered the double-door to his left, smirking all the while.  
  
Statham called out the next man. "Heywood J'Blowmee. And let me add that is the worst idea for an assassin I've heard in a while. This isn't stand-up comedy." Another man stood up. "Actually, I've changed that to Morpheus. Sniper specialist." A thick Australian accent replied.   
"Dieter Rommel."  
"Dieter Rommel, demolitions expert."  
"Stompbox."  
"Stompbox, hacker extraordinaire."   
"Ghost."  
"Ghost, skilled in gathering intelligence."  
"And finally, as commander of this mission, Mercenary."  
Mercenary was the assassin in Italy, a man who looked like he had had a sword run through his face. Legend surrounded this man in the black market like the Umbrella topic message board's Silver Scythe. Rumor has it he had taken out a renegade Nemesis in a lab all by himself, after sucking all the air out and killing anything that breathed. Rumor has it he was a Bio-experiment, but escaped and was able to act and lead a normal life, albeit he was kept under strict company surveillance. Rumor has it he could kill a zombie with his own hands. Mercenary stood up.  
"Mercenary, weapons expert." He said quietly. And with that, he left the room.  
  
Matthews got up and opened his arms in what seemed a gracious gesture. "I must thank you all again for being so gracious in not being chosen. You may leave now." The men got up and started to leave the room when Matthews heard something in an earpiece in his left ear and stopped them. "Gentlemen, I have received word that certain undesirable data will become introduced to the general public unless certain demands are met."  
  
Matthews pressed a button. "Sorry to be melodramatic, but one of those is that you all must not leave this room." Guns were trained on Matthews almost instantly, but a Tyrant had left the elevator and was blocking the bullets that had threatened to hit his boss. Slowly the Tyrant reached one of the assassins who was dumb enough to be frozen in his tracks. In a move so swift the human eye could barely catch, the Tyrant successfully sliced the man in half, blood spraying everywhere. The other assassins continued to fire, but their fate was sealed.  
  
Mullet sat there in utter terror, watching these killers be ripped apart, lacerations gushing deep red blood onto the designer carpet. Matthews had left the room, but Mullet stayed there, too frightened to move. His hand finally moved and felt his crotch. He couldn't believe he had pissed himself. He reached again for the CD with the bug in it. Suddenly it started vibrating. Mullet became even more terrified. Someone has found out I have the disk, he told himself, but then realized that was foolish. He calmed down a tiny bit and left the room to clean himself.  
  
Mercenary rotated his head, popping many bones along the way. He was the only one who had left a bug in the room to his right, so only he could hear the screams. All according to plan, so things will work out well, he thought, as he half-listened to Statham giving detailed instructions. He also heard the smallest disturbance of static in his signal, deducing that a different electronic signal was in the room along with his bug. Can't be active electrical, Matthews pushed the button and it sounded fine. No, this has to be a different type of bug. Of course! He remembered. The one bug he had not programmed to be ignored. A bug that was in a CD, which would normally be a virus or something to indicate a piggyback slurp. He pushed his left ear, which would locate the precise location of the CD bug, and transmit the location with the floor plan to his home terminal. A small beep in his ear confirmed the location. Excellent, he thought, a smirk growing on his face.  
  
  
  
  
'We drown ourselves in information, looking for knowledge.'  
  
Author's note: A Jolly Roger is a skull-and-crossbones. 


	4. La Guardia Airport, N.Y.C.

La Guardia Airport  
New York  
  
"What the hell is a piggyback slurp?" Sherry Birkin asked, thumbing through one of Seth's heavily technical notebooks. She could make sense of some of it, but when the manual hit things that were so amazingly complex she couldn't even begin to comprehend them, she asked Seth. Seth was about to answer, but Claire intervened.  
  
"Sherry! I told you I did not wanting you using that gutter trash language!" Claire admonished, throwing a glare at Seth, who patiently waited for Claire to finish bitching Sherry out before continuing.  
"A piggyback slurp is when two different computers are exchanging information and a third terminal between them would like to acquire some of that data. It may be illegal, but it is pretty much undetectable because it's premise is so simple. The third terminal enters in a code, links up with both of the other computers, and instantly makes a copy of the information. The reason you can do this for so long and not get caught is that the computer you're using fools the other two computers into thinking that yours is the one it is normally with, and you do the same with the other computer. Now-"  
"Wait a sec. Explain that last part to me again." Sherry interrupted.  
"Okay. Say there are two computers, one in L.A., the other here in N.Y.C., right?" he said.  
"Right."  
"Now let's say you're in Texas, alright?"  
"Right."  
"You insert the virus, and L.A. thinks you are N.Y.C., New York thinks you are L.A., and you know the other two are getting fucked up the ass."  
"Seth!!" Claire said, acid etched into her words.  
"Ohhhhhhhh!!!" Sherry said, getting the gist.  
"You take data from both of them, hence 'slurp.' But you also sorat ride on their coattails, hence 'piggyback.' Get it?  
"I get it!" she said, and then went to the bathroom.  
  
"Good, she gets it." He said, smirking as he returned to the laptop. Claire got up huffily and stormed over to Seth, pointing at him in a demeaning manner. He looked up innocently.  
  
"Look, little boy, you may have won the contest of Most Vulgar Mouth, but that does not mean you use it around my little girl! Do you get that, god dammit?!?" She said, heads from different seats turning around to see what the woman was screaming about. Seth leaned forward. And in a very quiet, calm manner, "I don't think you should be screaming. People come here to relax right before the flight. This is American Airline's Officers Club, you know. Also, your fly's unzipped."  
Claire looked down, and realized he was right. She grew red from a combination of fury and embarrassment as she zipped up and stormed back over to Leon. "Have a nice day!" he called. Claire grew even more red and started mumbling of ways to kill Seth to herself. Leon patted her back affectionately.  
"You know, he's not really that bad." He tried to console her.  
"Yes, he is." Was the curt reply.  
"No, the only thing wrong with him is he's a teenager, and they don't work well with others. At all. It will be the same with Sherry in a coupla years, you wait." Leon looked at Claire and could tell she didn't believe him.  
"Gonna be the shocker of your life, to boot." He finished, leaning back into his seat. The intercom announced their flight was ready. The group stood up, picked up their bags, and marched onward into the plane, Jill and Chris holding hands.   
  
A man waiting for the flight next to the group put down his newspaper, staring. He had a massive tattoo of a Jolly Roger on his forehead. He watched a man put a disk in his pocket, after removing it from the laptop. The man with the tattoo decided to check up on that later, snapping a picture with his Bond-type lapel pin attached to his coat. The man let his thoughts wander, a bit too long as the man with spiked brown hair saw him and his eyes widened. Shit, the man thought as Chris leaned down to talk to the other woman. She stiffened as he finished and stood back up. She turned around immediately and talked to the rest of the group. They nodded, and started to leave when a security officer came up to them. He talked to them for a few seconds, and then they started to follow him instead. The man got up and tried to follow them, but they were lost in the crowd. Shit! He thought again as his pace grew frantic. He had lost them! He couldn't believe how stupid he was. But he would find them.  
  
Chris and the others walked through the various passageways of the airport, blindly following the security guard, who never lost pace in the winding passages. He had walked up to them and asked them to come with him. As Chris was nearly startled to death by the guy he had seen earlier, he quickly agreed, anxious to get away from the man, knowing who the man was. Eventually, the twists and turns ended in an interrogation room. Four men were waiting for them; two were zombies in cages. Chris instinctively pulled out his hidden Beretta from under the carry-on bag and shot one of them in the head before the security guard could backside him with the butt of his gun. Chris slumped to the ground. Sherry recoiled in horror, while Seth stayed where he was, but just barely. Leon pulled out his Desert Eagle, aimed it at the guard and pulled the trigger without a second thought; the guard's brain matter flew all over the quiet men sitting down and the zombie who was alive. The zombie licked his chops; getting all the brains and swallowing them greedily. He stuck his arms out and clutched Seth. Seth revealed a butterfly knife and sliced the zombie's wrist off before the zombie could pull him close enough to bite him. Then, once he was free, he threw the knife with pinpoint accuracy to hit the zombie right between the eyes. The zombie moaned and fell to the ground. Claire pulled Sherry behind her back and exposed her gun as well, pointing the muzzle at the two oddly unruffled men. As the action stopped, Seth went over to the guard and searched him, paying no heed to the composed men. He acquired a gun, an extra clip, a security pass, an earpiece, and a radio. Seth took a look at the pass. "Fake," he said, but still put it in his pocket. He helped Chris to his feet. Chris pointed the muzzle at the men.  
  
"Who are you, why do you want us, what are your connections with Umbrella, and what is your connection with that assassin dude from outside?" Chris asked, breathing after he finished.  
"Quite the interrogator." One of them said with a heavy German accent. He looked very pale, as if he didn't get much sunlight.  
"Must look cool, huh Dieter?" the other commented.  
"As always. I can't turn it off. Just like I can't turn the timer off, can't turn the bomb off, which will explode and destroy the whole airport unless you all come with us. Also, I wouldn't pull that trigger; the bomb will explode if I die. Don't shoot my friend, either."  
"Trigger or timed?" Seth said, pressing his laptop to his side, no one but him hearing the small electronic beep that followed.  
"Like I'm going to tell you, or if you'd even understand." The one called Dieter replied.  
"Also, don't be an idiot, don't ever say my name again." Dieter said to the unnamed man.  
"Come with us, or die." The unnamed one said.  
"I hate ultimatums, they're so constricting." Seth said, starting to sweat. Everyone was. It was a no-win situation. At fist sight, Seth thought, who promptly sat down on the floor and pulled out his specialized laptop, an idea formulating in his mind.   
"Seth, this isn't the time to play games." Leon said.  
"Oh yes it is." Was Seth's reply.  
Immediately the unnamed man vaulted over the desk to get to Seth. Before Seth could say anything, and oddly enough he didn't even try, the man snatched the laptop and started typing. Seth leaned over and saw what he was doing for a brief moment before the man pushed him away. Seth stumbled back into the cage with the zombie he'd killed.   
"So you're Stompbox, huh?" Seth said, seeing the transmission and worm at work. There was no answer.  
"Yeah, you were in that 'controversial' 2600 report. I thought you looked like a woman at first, but you know, my eyes ain't so good, and-"   
"Quiet!" Stompbox abruptly cut him off.  
"So violent! You know, I always thought fellow hackers' etiquette consisted of being calm, like you were a few minutes ago. But now-"  
"Shutup!!" Stompbox said.   
  
Leon fingered the illegal butterfly knife he had picked up earlier from the dead zombie behind his back. Leon knew he was right behind Stompbox and could see he was sweating. The perfect time to strike, he thought. But the catch was he didn't know how to open the knife out fast enough before Stompbox would hear him fumbling around with the switches and hit him, or something. Seth was the only one who knew how to use the butterfly knife effectively. He stared at Seth; hoping the movie theory would work. Stare hard enough; they'll feel it and see you.   
  
It didn't work. Shit! Leon fumbled around in his pockets and dropped a quarter. Seth turned his head to see what the noise was and met with Leon's eyes. Leon darted his eyes to look at Dieter, who at the moment was looking at what Stompbox was doing. Leon discreetly tossed the knife to Seth, mouthing word games at the same time. Seth, in a brilliant move, turned halfway around to catch it behind his back as Leon bent to pick up his dropped coin. He frowned thoughtfully, thinking about what word games meant. C'mon Seth, get it? You can get it c'mon c'mon c'onnnnnnn.   
  
Seth's eyes widened, as he understood. Leon sighed in relief, thinking it just might work. Abruptly, Seth's laptop turned off. "What the F*ck?!?!?" Stompbox cried out as Seth darted forward, flicking out the blade. Stompbox still heard him and was quick enough to turn around before Seth jammed the blade straight between his eyes and twisted. Stompbox screamed before falling to the ground, Seth pulling the blade out at the same time. Blood spraye dinto the air in a fine mist, somewhat hampering Dieter's view. Dieter got up, but before he could press a trigger or anything Leon dropkicked him in a flying leap. The dropkick connected with Dieter Rommel's head, which jerked back and slammed into the wall before falling back into the chair. Seth ran forward, grabbed the laptop, and ran off with the rest of the group, picking up their luggage along the way.  
  
"How the hell did you get the computer to turn off?" Jill asked as the group ran down various corridors, no plan in their minds.  
"RIGHT!" Chris cried. Claire looked up and saw the HERTZ Rental Car logo.   
"What happened to the airborne plan?" Claire yelled.  
"Permanently friggin' delayed!" Sherry called out.  
"Sherry! I told you not to use that kind of language!" Claire screamed.  
"My laptop will only respond to my fingerprints, and only specific keys correspond to specific prints! Basically, the way I type is the way everyone else has to type! If someone else uses it, the computer turns off and can only be turned back on with a code!"  
"So that's why the computer cost so much, huh Seth?!?" Jill deduced.  
"Yeah, but no one will ever get to that Silver Scythe disk now!" he said.  
  
The group slammed through some doors and cam to the rental agency. Chris slammed 10K in 100 dollar bills on the table and said, "Gimme the two fastest cars ya got with the biggest trunk space!" he said, slightly panting. As the clerk handed them the keys, a large hole appeared in his forehead.   
"Yo, Chris, that dude you saw earlier is back!" Leon yelled, seeing the man with the big Jolly Roger tattoo on his forehead was there, an M-1 in his hands.  
"Stand still and you will not be subjected to indescribable torture later!" the man said.   
  
Seth pulled out his butterfly knife and threw it at the man, who caught it. Before anyone could react, the man twirled around and threw it right back, where it landed just above Seth's right kneecap.  
"AAAAAHHHHHHH GODDAMNSONOFABITCHCOCKSUCKIN'MOTHERFUCKIN'ASSMUCHIN'BUTTFUCKER!!" Seth screamed, in a bit of pain.  
Chris ran off with the sets of car keys. Jill ran after him. It was a standstill for a couple of minutes, although the sirens of airport security could be heard in the far-off distance.   
"Who are you?" Leon asked.  
"I'm known as Overseer, and I'm the antithesis of what your child's happy dreams are."  
"AHHHHHHGODDAMN!!!!" Seth cried out again as Overseer reached over and pulled out the knife with a vicious tug.  
"Now, your friends have left you so why don't you just come with" Overseer saw the group dive laterally, so he knew to follow what they were doing as well instead of just standing there like a dumbass. He didn't react quickly enough, as Chris vaulted through the glass doors in a jet black Mercedes, the spray of cubed glass and the screech of tires giving more to the adrenaline level in everyone's blood. The Ferrari slammed full speed into Overseer's ribs, making him scream and fly thought the air.  
"I didn't know HERTZ carried this kind of car!" Leon said, whistling as he got in, hauling Seth in with him, who was mumbling in pain the whole time as he had fainted moments before from the pain.  
"They don't! It's the manager's!" Chris said. Jill came in a split second later in a full-sized van. Everyone piled in where they could.  
"HAUL ASS!" Sherry yelled as Overseer got back up, the M-1 in his hands. Jill backed up her van right into him, effectively squishing him against the wall. He fell back as blood sprayed against the wall. Chris slammed his foot against the accelerator and Jill did the same just as airport security arrived.  
  
Mercenary got out of the car and stared at the group. No use making it a cross-country media bonanza, he thought. With Dieter paralyzed, Stompbox dead, his brains oozing all over onto the floor, and Overseer looking like he was going to lose his legs, it was going to be a fuck of a mess to clean up. Oh, well, the bodies will be disposed of. He talked into his radio, calling off the security. My group was not ready at this early stage in the game; they seem insufficient for my purposes. He frowned, contemplating. Then he grinned. There are uses for everything, he thought, walking back into the limousine.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
'You're always gonna have problems lifting a body in one piece. Apparently the best thing to do is cut up a corpse into six pieces, and then pile it all together. When you got your six pieces, you gotta get rid of 'em as well, 'cause it ain't no good leaving it in the freezer for your Mum to discover now is it? Then I hear the next best thing to do is feed 'em to pigs. You gotta starve the pigs for a few days, then the sight of chopped-up flesh will look like ice cream to a pisshead. You gotta shave the heads of your victims and pull the teeth out for the sake of the piggies' indigestion. You could do this afterwards, but you don't want to sift through pig shit now do you? They will go through bone like butter. You need at least 16 pigs to finish the job in one sitting, so be wary of any man who keeps a pig farm. They will go through a body that weighs 200 pounds in about 8 minutes, which means that a single pig can consume 2 pounds of uncooked flesh, every minute. Hence the expression 'As greedy as a pig.'  
  
  
Author's Note: If you don't understand some of what is being said (in the chapter, not the quote), try reading my previous story to which this is the sequel of, Resident Evil: Deus Ex. It helps a bit. 


End file.
